God Help the Outcasts: A Disney Crossover Fanfic

Chapter Sixteen: Eye of the Beholder

Drizella peeked around the flap of her tent. There were only a few scattered gypsies here and there, going about their morning business. That was good. She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. She'd combed her hair like Esmeralda had shown her but lain aside the gypsy garb Esmeralda had wrestled her into last night. Although they were beautiful, they weren't her, at least not yet. She needed time to adjust. Time to learn how to be herself...whoever 'herself' was.

She pushed the weathered thoughts aside and crept into the quiet morning of the catacombs, clad in the dress she'd come to them in. The few gypsies she encountered exchanged concerned or confused glances amongst themselves, but none stopped her. She quickened her pace self-consciously and ducked into Esmeralda's tent.

"Esmeralda?" She found her tying a headband into her mass of gorgeous black waves.

"Good morning," she greeted, and smiled at her reflection as she finished the knot. "I think that's the best I've ever tied this thing." She turned to acknowledge Drizella fully and shock flashed through her features. "What happened to your clothes?"

Drizella bit her lip in an attempt not to cry. Calm down, she didn't mean it that way.

"I just thought...well, I'm not really ready to be wearing it all the time yet. And besides," she said, her words quickening, "I wanted to go outside today, to go see Nakoma and take her some food. And," she said with a triumphant smile as she remembered her valid excuse, "and I didn't want to label myself as a gypsy and stand out. So I figured these clothes would be better."

Esmeralda studied her concernedly with narrowed eyes.

"Do the clothes make you uncomfortable?"

Drizella frowned, stared at the floor and rubbed her arm uneasily.

"A little," she admitted softly. "It's not that I don't think they're pretty," she hastened to add. "I just need time to get used to them."

Esmeralda sighed, but there was a smile on her face.

"Alright, I understand. Just promise me you'll wear them at night, while you're here in the catacombs. Just at night, when you're with me and the others. Then you can get used to them without having to wear them all the time."

Drizella nodded vigorously with relief.

"I promise. But I was wanting to ask you if it was alright for me to go outside."

"Of course," Esmeralda said, walking her toward the tent flap. "Just make sure you're not followed and come back as soon as possible. I'll get a few others to watch your back. Oh!" she said, and scooped up a basket from the floor. "Take this to Nakoma. It's got bread and some cheese and dried fruit in it. It should help, anyway. Tell her and Quasi 'hello' from all of us here."

"I will," she said, and then began on her way. One of the gypsies, presumably one of Esmeralda's friends who was going to make sure she wasn't followed, showed her a way around the water so she wouldn't get her shoes wet. Then she was outside once again, savoring the fresh breeze in her loose, combed hair. As she walked the streets of Paris, always keeping the towering cathedral directly in front of her, she eagerly watched the citizens at work and play. Children chased chickens across the road, wives gathered together like gaggles of geese and gossiped, and husbands hovered over hordes of merchandise in wagons and carts.

The sweet smell of freshly-baked bread overwhelmed her and she was suddenly homesick, at least for the company of her sister. She wondered if her mother had done anything terrible to Anastasia and the baker, but somehow knew that Cinderella wouldn't let that happen. Cinderella, that sweet, sweet girl. How many times over the years had she felt a twinge of regret, a sharp pang of guilt for abusing her, and then swept it aside in the name of her selfishness?